Matters of Life and Death
by FemaleOfTheSpecies
Summary: Detective James Walker is a rational, methodical man. He's working on the biggest case of his life; young women are being murdered at an alarming rate and the police have nothing to go on... until a clue of the occult type turns up. In his desperation Walker approaches a certain exorcist for help, turning his rational inquiry into the stuff of nightmares...


**Matters of Life and Death  
**Chapter one: an end to a beginning

The air was thick with the smell of the corpse. It greeted you at the front door and guided you through the building like a warm, rancid hand, beckoning you down the dilapidated hallways. You knew what you were going to find before you found it, but it didn't prepare you for it.

Detective James Walker climbed over the remaining fragments of what had been the front door to apartment 79 before the officers first on scene had knocked it down some hours ago. Inside he found a team busy at work photographing the rooms and documenting anything of significance they could find. Lieutenant Harvey, James noticed, had already arrived. The older man was examining the body with a handkerchief pressed to his nose and mouth. He was bent at the hip, maintaining as much distance from the corpse as possible.

'What've we got?' he asked, pulling on latex gloves, making his way towards his senior. 'This is our guy' Lieutenant Harvey confirmed, straightening up with all the elegance of an elderly man whose hips were struggling. 'Elizabeth Drake was found in the adjoining room. His next intended victim, no doubt'. The elderly man rolled his shoulders, uneasiness clear in the creases on his forehead. 'No clear motive, but the girl confirmed everything - burial site of other victims, methods, where he kept 'em, there's no doubting it...'

They both looked down at the corpse of the man they'd been hunting for months, 'this is the sick son of a bitch we've been hunting'. Their eyes met, and Harvey continued, 'seems someone else got to him first.'

It had been a violent death. There was one single harsh arch of blood splattered up the wall some ten feet away from the body, and his spine had been snapped resulting in his head resting near his toes, his body bent almost in half. The eyes were the worst though - the terror he had felt just before his end hadn't left his face even in death. His head was also facing the wrong direction.

The handkerchief Harvey had been flexing in his hand was unceremoniously thrust into the pocket of his trousers as a member of the forensics team approached him. James glanced down at the mangled body of their killer once more as the Lieutenant moved away and into another discussion. The nervousness his superior was trying to hide concerned him but he thought it best to not linger on that… for now…

The man they had been hunting for five months wasn't what he'd expected. He was thin, almost gaunt looking. His eyes seemed to be sunken into his skill, the dark patches beneath them were a stark contrast to his pallid complexion, and the little hair he'd had left on his head was greasily swept over his bald scalp. How this man had kidnapped and murdered at least twelve women in such a violent manner he didn't know.

He _did _know how their man had met his death though, and he knew he'd never be able to share that information with Lieutenant Harvey. He'd promised the exorcist, Constantine, that he wouldn't tell a soul. Perhaps that's why he wasn't as shocked by the state of the body as his colleague? He didn't know… the shit he'd seen in the last month had messed with his head so much that James wondered if he was capable of being shocked by anything anymore.

It had been in complete desperation that James had approached Constantine at all. Yet, a month ago, after the tenth victim, Victoria Miller, had been found dead and mutilated one bitterly cold December night he'd made the call. He'd turned away from her young naked body, exposed and cut up, frozen in the snow and he'd gone home. His stomach had churned from anger and disgust.

In the hour or so that had followed he'd sunk almost a half bottle of scotch before deciding to follow up the occult hunch he'd had when the third victim, Sarah Grey, and the fifth victim, an unidentified Jane Die, had been found with sheets of paper covered with occult-like symbols scattered around them. They hadn't followed those leads up at the time, and as he'd sat at home he'd decided that perhaps they could have saved another seven girls if they'd not dismissed it so readily as bullshit when the discovery was made at the third crime scene.

Yet, he remembered the hesitation. Standing outside Constantine's door, head buzzing from the scotch in his stomach and the damp, cold air on his face and arms. Remembered the door opening before he'd even knocked.

He'd been expected. That bastard.

Things had gone crazy after that. He'd lived an almost double life - fully aware of the fact that if his superiors found out what he was up to off of the clock they'd take him off the case. He'd spent his days in the department following up official lines of enquiries, and his evenings were spent following up… stranger lines of enquiries.

James thought of Marie suddenly. He wondered if she was awake yet and if John had filled her in on the details. He was pretty sure she had almost died in front of him not an hour before, despite John's assurances that the seizure and heavy bleeding from her nose was perfectly normal…

He wondered if John was still conscious. He really shouldn't have left either of them as they were. He ought to check on them, he was sure he should have dropped them off at the emergency room on his way to the scene. Hindsight was a bitch.

Lieutenant Harvey was in the hallway outside of the apartment talking to the first responding officers when James found him. 'Look, there's not a lot I can do here-', Harvey slapped him on the shoulder, interrupting him, 'you've worked yourself ragged on this, but our man isn't going to hurt anyone else. Go get some rest' he instructed, nodding and waving the younger detective away.

James had no intention of resting though, not really… he hadn't slept properly in weeks and didn't think he would for a while.

This was the end of this... this chapter of his life. It was one of the most traumatic, disturbing and exhausting cases he had ever worked through, and yet to his surprise he found that he was disappointed it was drawing to a close. He was glad the son of a bitch was dead, but there were things he wasn't quite ready to give up on just yet. There were things he had discovered that, until a month ago, he had considered impossible. It would be sad to leave all of that behind.

He started his car engine, felt it rumble through his aching bones before slowly pulling away and heading into the city. What he was going to find he wasn't sure. He'd learned quickly that you never could be when dealing with psychics and exorcists.

He just hoped for the best. Like always.


End file.
